Quite Interesting
by FazzyGrl.22
Summary: Anya, alone on her birthday, gets an unexpected visitor. Americaxfem!Russia
1. Quite Interesting

**This thing just hit me at work the other day. **

**I love Americaxfem!Russia. They'd be so interesting together. **

**I might make this a multi-chaptered thing... If anybody wants that. XDD**

* * *

The house was silent – only a faint ticking of a clock could be heard throughout the vast structure. Rooms which had once been full of light and the sounds of life now lay dark, empty and still. A fine layer of dust coated everything and many pieces of furniture were covered with dusty sheets; signs that indicated that nothing had been used for at least a decade.

The big dining room was empty as well, save for one solitary figure sitting at the far end of the table. A lone candle was lit and a plate of food sat on the table before them.

Anya Braginsky (more widely known as the personification of Russia) stared at the food on the plate – _pelmeni_, her favorite meal. She had cooked it herself – alone – with music playing to keep things from being too quiet. The sun was going down as seen from a grand window behind her. It cast shadows throughout the room. A light snow was falling outside on that December evening and it made the house's temperature drop. After all, there was no use in spending money to heat such a massive house when she was the only one left living in it.

The candle flickered and, looking around at the empty table with empty plates in front of empty chairs, Anya sadly smiled.

"I'm glad you all could come," she said to the stillness, still smiling. "Really, I wasn't expecting a party, especially in this weather!"

Her laugh was hollow.

"Please enjoy the meal…" she murmured. Staring down at the plate of food before her, she jabbed a forkful of it and slowly chewed. The food stuck in her throat as she stared at the candle's flame, listening to how quiet and empty everything around her was.

"Happy birthday to me," she whispered. She couldn't eat another bite. Blowing out the candle, she took her plate and exited to the kitchen. The empty plates remained on the table. In the kitchen, a vase full of flowers sat on the counter. They had been the only birthday gift she had received, from her brother Belarus. He had been forbidden to take them to Anya himself, so they had arrived the previous day via special delivery. Ukraine – still avoiding her – hadn't sent anything.

She set her jaw, trying to stop the tightening of her throat as she washed her plate. No one seemed to even acknowledge that her birthday was today. Oh, of course, her government officials and her boss had called to wish her a happy birthday, but none of her peers, her fellow countries, seemed to care. Well, she hadn't expected the Baltics to do anything, especially Latvia. The two of them were still in a tense debate over oil on the Volga River. Prussia hadn't contacted her either, which was all the better, for he had been a bully when they were children and had come to resent her after she captured him when the Axis Powers had lost the Second World War. It seemed that France didn't notice either, even though he claimed they were still friends, but that only seemed to be true when convenient. Not even China had tried to call her, and that made her all the more depressed. She had tried so hard to befriend him and she thought he liked her well enough, though he had always nervously laughed when she had suggested a closer relationship. Anya had chocked that up to confusion, but now she was beginning to fear that he really wanted nothing to do with her.

The dishes were soon clean, the leftover food was stored away, and Anya decided that she would end this depressing day with a bottle of fruit-flavored vodka and one of her favorite films. Perhaps she would watch one that made her cry. She was about to head to the small room via the kitchen where she kept her alcohol to fetch that vodka when the sound of knocking echoed through her house. Someone was at the door.

Anya frowned. Could it be that someone was actually paying her a visit? It was too good to be true. She strode to the foyer and looked at the door a moment before opening it. Perhaps it was France… or even China?

She opened the door. It wasn't France and it certainly wasn't China.

"_America?_" she said incredulously.

It was America, standing out in the snow bundled in a big, fluffy red coat. He was shivering and shaking. He didn't have his hands in his pockets, but held his arms behind him.

"H-h-hello, R-R-R-Russia-a-a," he shivered.

She rolled her eyes and quickly ushered him into the house. As soon as the door was closed, he stuck his chin out of the coat's collar and with a toss of his head, the hood was off. He wore a ski hat on his head and golden strands of his hair stuck out here and there. The lenses of his glasses were fogged up and he removed them with one hand and rubbed them against his sleeve.

"Holy crap, I think it's just as cold in here!" he exclaimed. "Ever hear of a heating system, lady?"

That frozen smile that she wore whenever angry or upset came over her features.

"Well, you try paying to heat a house this big all by yourself," she retorted.

He huffed. "You've got a point."

She raised her eyebrows. Did America actually _agree _with her on something?

"Why are you here?" She interjected.

But he had begun to shiver again. "Can we…like…light a fire or something? I'm freezing my – I'm cold."

Once again, Anya rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's go into the study."

There was a fire lit in the study, and America was soon warmed enough to stop shivering. He stuffed his ski cap in one of his coat pockets and removed his coat to reveal a black ribbed sweater. He was also wearing jeans and boots. At least he had dressed warmly, Anya mused.

"So…" she urged. America blinked at her for a minute.

"Oh! Right!" He pulled out a box he had hidden behind one of the sofa pillows and held it up to her.

"For you," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "What is it?"

"A birthday present!" Now he rolled his eyes. "Duh! What else would it be?"

But she continued to eye him warily. After all, this was _America. _The two of them hadn't been friends for quite some time now. He had become just one among several countries who would probably love to see her dead. She didn't blame him for despising her, though. She had wanted to kill him just as much as he had wanted to kill her. Such was the fate of two ex-friends-turned-rivals who had differing political beliefs.

However, relations between them had gone from outright hatred to simmering dislike to meager indifference. Personally, she wasn't sure how she felt about him now. She took the small box from him and just stared at it.

She had to admit, America was the last person she would have thought would remember her birthday, let alone give her something.

"Are you gonna open it?" He asked.

She continued to look at it, but then gave it back to him.

"You open it."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because I don't know what is in there."

He understood the implications in her answer and sighed. He didn't say anything, just took the box and unwrapped it. After the paper was off, he removed the box's lid and held it up to her.

"See? No bomb or anything."

She peered into the box and sure enough all that seemed to be inside was some sort of clothing.

"What is it?"

America kept his tone even. "Well, why don't you take it out so you can see for yourself?"

"It's not an unstable source or anything?" She continued to eye him suspiciously.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Russia! We've come to an official understanding! Even if I wanted to try and sabotage you, my boss would have my head for sure if he found out!"

This time she was the one who agreed with him. "You've got a point," she imitated the words he had previously said.

Anya took the article of clothing from the box and saw that it was actually a long, warm, colorful scarf. She rubbed her thumbs along the soft material and woulndn't look at America.

"Do… do you like it?" She heard him ask.

Her grasp on the scarf tightened as she tried to keep her throat from closing up again. she swallowed a couple of times.

"I… I was in need of a new one," she murmured. Then, she willed herself to look at him.

"Why?" she asked.

He frowned, confused. "Why what?"

"Why did you go out of your way to get me something? I don't recall us ever reconciling enough to become friends."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Ah… w-well… You see, I was hanging out with Mattie and – I mean, Canada and France the other day, and France up and suddenly went like this," he slapped his hand against his forehead, "and began babbling on about how it was your birthday. Well, I asked if you were gonna have a party, and when France said probably not, I decided that I could at least drop by and …"

He shrugged. "Well… I don't think anybody should be alone on their birthday."

Anya gawked at him.

"But… But I'm Russia…" she retorted.

He stared at her. "And?"

"_And _I'm the one you hate! I'm your rival and you are mine! Why this sudden move for friendship? We almost _killed _each other several years ago!"

He again ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. "Yeah…"

"There isn't an alterior motive to this is there?" she suddenly asked, the suspicion returning in full force.

"No."

"Then what is your reason?"

He just shrugged. "I don't know, Russia, to be honest. I just heard that you were gonna be alone, so I decided to just go with it and come see you."

Anya stared back down at the scarf she still clutched. It was pretty, and so soft…. It would go well with her great coat she liked to wear when going outside. A part of her reasoned that it would be better if she gave the gift back to America; that she didn't want his patronizing charity. But a gift was a gift, she decided. It would be rude to try to give it back.

She sighed and slowly wrapped the scarf around her neck. America noticed and his face brightened considerably.

"So does that mean you like it?" he asked. He reminded her of a puppy.

She shrugged. "More or less. So… now what happens?"

His grin pulled down into a worried frown. "I… I dunno. Are we… friends now?"

She stared at him, nonplussed. "Do you want to be?"

"Hmm…" He seemed to be considering that question. "I don't know," he answered slowly. "I'd have to think about it."

Anya wasn't surprised.

"After all, you're still a Commie." His glance turned cynical.

"And you're still … you," she remonstrated.

"Very funny."

"I like to think I have an amazing senseof humor, yes."

America huffed. "If we want to try it, we'll have to take this friend thing slow, I'm thinking."

Anya nodded, though she continued to fiddle with the ends of the scarf. She didn't feel like taking it off.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I asked if you wanted something to eat," she said, looking at the fire disinterestedly.

He shrugged, seemingly just as disinterested as she. "I guess it all depends on what you got."

"Something Russian. You would probably not want to eat it. It's _Commie _food, after all," she mocked, close to sneering.

He scoffed. "Oh please. If I can eat England's food, I can eat yours. What is it?"

"_Pelmeni_. They're basically dumplings."

America's stomach growled. "I guess I could try that."

She gestured for him to follow her out of the study and towards the kitchen. So they were going to have a bit of a meal together. She found that interesting. In fact, she found this whole scenario interesting. As she brought out the leftovers and warmed them up for him, she watched him from the corner of her eye and saw that he didn't seem too bothered by this turn of events.

Once the food was set before him and he began eating, she found herself watching him and wondering if he would like the food. Suddenly, he looked up from his plate and said with cheeks full of food,

"This is friggin good, Russia! I can't believe how good a cook you are!"

"Yes, well, when I'm not taking out targets and running around undercover, I'm a part time chef," she said dryly.

He chuckled and audibly swallowed. "I'm glad I came over here! You gotta let me take some back with me!"

She shrugged. "That is fine with me."

He smiled and she, surprisingly, found herself smiling back. It hadn't been an ideal birthday when the day started, but it was slowly becoming more bearable.

She looked away for a minute and fiddled with the scarf's fringe again.

"Um…"

"Yeah?"

She couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Would you like to … watch a movie or something?"

He stared at her for a minute before slowly smiling.

"I don't see why not," he said. "As long as it's not some sappy movie that makes me wanna cry."


	2. More than a Little Curious

1867

Alfred Jones adjusted his coat for what had to be the thousandth time and he glanced at himself in a mirror hanging on a nearby wall. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, let the breath out. He didn't understand why he was so nervous. Well, sure it _was_ the President, but he had been so close with the previous one…

Alfred sighed. After all, this wasn't President Lincoln he was going to talk to. That man had been so down to earth, so quiet. He could remember the nights when he stayed at the White House and would find Mr. Lincoln sitting up on his bed, thinking, waiting to talk to him about the war or anything on his mind.

The door to the President's office opened and the secretary stepped out.

"You may see him now, Mr. Jones."

He nodded and thanked the man before going into the office. There, sitting at a grand desk, overlooking some paperwork, sat President Andrew Johnson. At the sound of Alfred closing the door, he looked up and gave the young nation a smile.

"Hello, my boy," he said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Alfred answered. He was used to the nation's leaders calling him such names as "my boy" or "Son." President Lincoln had done so, often calling him "Son," with an amused smile, admitting that even though he knew who Alfred was, he couldn't help but treat him as if he was as old as his son Robert.

_It's just that you look so young, Alfred, _he would say. _No older than twenty, at least. _

Alfred didn't mind. In fact, he liked it. It felt as if he was given a chance to have someone whom he could look up to as a father. That had been especially true with George Washington, as well as Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln would always give him that encouraging pat on the back that fathers were prone to do. But the president was not Abraham Lincoln. Not anymore. He wasn't sure how he felt about Andrew Johnson.

"Well, I'm sure you're wondering what I asked you to come here for, eh?" The man asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"We've made a bargain with Russia."

Alfred raised his brows. _Russia, is it? _

"You mean that Northern European country who urged England to sign the Treaty of Ghent?" he asked.

"The very same. I want you to go to Alaska and confirm its purchase from Russia."

Now Alfred was incredibly interested. "We're buying Alaska?"

"Yes. What do you think about that, hm?'

"I'm all for it, Sir!" Alfred exclaimed. It would mean more land for everyone; another portion to add to the great country of America. He was getting excited.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. There are some who are not so keen on the idea, you see."

"Really?" Alfred cried. "Well, don't worry, sir! They'll appreciate it later, I'm sure! So!" He eagerly rubbed his hands together. "I'm guessing you want me to leave straight away?"

"Yes. Mr. Seward has already left to conduct the affairs. However, I want to warn you of something before you go. It concerns Russia."

"What about Russia?"

"Just… look, Alfred, I know you know your manners… but where Russia is concerned…"

Alfred frowned. "With all due respect, sir, I think I can deal with him as I would any other nation I come across."

The President couldn't help but smile a little. "Well, you see, that's where things get a little different. The nation you'll be speaking with is actually a woman."

Alfred blinked. Then he opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it.

"A woman?" he queried. _Hold on, here. Russia's a woman?! How have I not heard about this before?!_

"I think you understand my previous statement more, now don't you?"

All he could do was slowly nod, since he was still trying to process this information. Russia, the big country that was known for its large empire, the one that England continually was wary of, and that France spoke of with contempt… was a _woman?_ He wasn't sure if he was impressed or affronted. That a woman was able to have such power, and continually grow in power, seemed strange to him, but also admittedly left him curious.

"I'll be on my best behavior, Mr. President," he said slowly.

President Johnson nodded. "Good. Have a safe journey, Alfred. And be sure to dress warmly!"

**… … …**

A cabin situated on the edge of the town named Sitka came into Alfred's line of vision and he ushered his horse in that general direction. After meeting with the American officials sent to speak to the Russians, they had told Alfred that Russia was in that cabin waiting for him. Discussions between the men were to begin later on in the day. For right now, they were waiting to see if the two national representatives would be able to come to an understanding.

Alfred slid off of the horse and led it into a nearby barn. It was warm and cozy for the animal, to his relief. He then went up to the front door and sighed. He had no idea what to expect from Russia, especially now, considering the fact that he knew he would be talking with a woman. Would she be quiet? Would she be loud and talkative? Would she be open and friendly or would she be difficult? A part of him hoped she would at least be nice to look at, but he shoved that thought away. This wasn't any Sunday-afternoon flirtation. This was governmental business.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door.

_Now why did I do that? I could have just gone inside…_

"Come in!" He heard a soft, accented voice call out. Well, he had to admit, he liked the sound of her at least. Her voice was soothing and pleasant on the ear. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all?

He plastered on his winning smile and swung the door open. The first thing he noticed was that the cabin was warm, but dimly lit with some candles and a lit fireplace as the only source of lighting. Then, sure enough, he saw sitting at a makeshift table with a bottle of what seemed to be some form of alcohol at hand, a woman. She was dressed warmly in a fur coat, scarf and long boots, though her head was uncovered, revealing ashen-blonde hair braided up upon her head.

The woman turned to him and blue eyes stared into dark, indigo ones. The firelight flitted across her face, revealing an aquiline nose and full lips. Alfred cleared his throat again. All right, so Russia was pretty… very much so… It was nothing he couldn't handle.

"You must be Amerika," she said in that same quiet voice. "I believe we are supposed to discuss purchase of this expanse of land?"

"That's right, Ma'am. Judging by the accent, you are Russia." He held out his hand to her and gave her a wide smile. "Pleased to meet you!" He said brightly. No sense in being stiff and unfriendly.

She took his hand in a (surprisingly) firm handshake. Russia had learned this was the way Americans greeted each other. Her superiors told her she should expect as much from the national representative. The two of them studied each other, slowly appraising the features of the other curiously. And oh, were they getting curious.

There was so much about Russia that could easily be misjudged. For one thing, she was a woman. Not only that, but she was a very attractive woman with a soft voice. America knew he could have easily written her off as someone who was weak; someone that people used as a proverbial door mat to walk all over. But no, one firm handshake later, he knew that this lady was a force to be reckoned with. This made him not only a little wary (he could now understand England's reactions) but also very interested. He was beginning to wonder just how tough this lady could be. He liked women with spunk who could hold their own in a fight.

As for Russia, she was quite amused. America fit every description she had been given: bright, energetic, still a bit young and naïve, but also aggressive. What with his wide smile and the blunt way he had thrust forward his hand, she could tell he was younger. But there was something else, something in the way he studied her quietly that made her begin to believe he was not quite so naïve as many were prone to think. And this left her quite curious as well.

"I hope you don't mind if I take a seat beside you?" He said. He made sure to keep good manners, as the President had urged.

She gestured to a chair and he took it without further question.

"So!" He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. "You want me to buy this little spot of land, right?"

She nodded. "You would get good seal out of it. Fur trading is very good and who knows what else you could do with the land?"

_Plus, _she mused to herself, _I need the money._

"England didn't want it, huh?" He queried.

"He did not seem all too interested in it, no."

"Your people planning on staying on when I buy it?"

Russia narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "Will that be a problem?" she asked.

"No. I was just wondering," he shrugged. He really didn't care either way.

"They may. They may not. I cannot say what my people will do," she responded. She was trying to figure out if America had any inner motives.

"Ever been seal hunting?" He suddenly asked. Russia stared at him.

"No. I … can't say that I have. Why do you ask that?"

"Eh, I was just wondering what it was like. I've never done it either."

"I see," she said slowly. Now he had her thoroughly confused. America was quite a unique person, if anything.

"So, I suppose you'll buy it?" She tried to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Yeah, of course!" He answered brightly. "I think it'll be a great addition to the country! Miss Russia, you've got a deal!"

She was pleased to hear that. With a small smile of her own, she took hold of the bottle on the table as well as some glasses and filled them up.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Vodka. You've never tried?"

"Of course I have! …Well, I've had gin. Close enough, though, right?"

She shrugged. "More or less." She handed him one glass and she raised the other one in a toast.

"Well, here's to making good deals!" He said.

"Here's to new acquaintances," she answered with another smile. The glasses clinked and they kept their eyes on each other as they downed the clear liquid. She had no reaction to the burning sensation trickling down her throat, but couldn't help but notice that he winced ever so slightly.

"Strong stuff," he whispered.

"You'll get used to it eventually."

America chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure I will." He set the glass down and studied her again. He liked her looks. She wasn't what people would call a classic beauty, probably, but she did have an air of mystery about her. He bet that behind that smile of hers, lay all sorts of secrets and past memories that would rather be forgotten. He wasn't as old of a nation, but even he had some of those, and he found that putting on a happy face and a brave front was something that kept the memories at bay.

Maybe she was the same?

"I remember England muttering about you sticking your nose in where it didn't belong back in 1814," he said amusedly.

She let out a low chuckle. "It helped you, though, didn't it?"

He nodded. "I never got to show my appreciation."

"Well, this makes up for it. We'll make good use of the money we're getting from this purchase, I assure you."

She poured another glass and he held his out. She eyed him warily.

"Can you handle more?" she asked.

He just grinned. "Missy, just try me."

She watched as he downed another glass of the stuff, and this time, he hardly winced at all. She slowly sipped hers as she continued to watch her new acquaintance. He was certainly different than many of the other nations she encountered.

These next several years in this newly-founded friendship were sure to be anything but dull, they thought, that was for certain.

* * *

**A.N.: **Hey guys! I've decided to make this a multi-chaptered thing after all, as you can see, lol.

I don't know how often this will be updated, but I will add onto this. As for this chapter, I have some explaining to do: I made the purchase of Alaska the first time they were going to meet, but I had forgotten about the time when Russia stood in as a sort of mediator between England and America during 1814 when the Treaty of Ghent was signed.

So... that really should have been when they first met... but I mentioned it in here. Just imagine that England and Russia had a little discussion and then England went to meet America to sign the Treaty. lol... yeah... Or that America and Russia just discussed things via letters. Ach, I dunno. I really liked this thing and I didn't want to go back and rewrite it... :/

Well. That's that. Thanks everyone! :3


	3. Welcome to Your New Nightmare

When Russia woke up the morning after her birthday, she momentarily forgot what had happened the night before as she stared up at the ceiling. It had started out lonely and depressing, but she seemed to recall it not ending that way. Her eyes drifted down to the end of the bed and she saw a scarf draped across the bed post. Then all the previous night's events came back to her.

"America was here…" she murmured thoughtfully. Sitting up, she then leaned over and took hold of the scarf. As she ran the scarf through her fingers, she thought back to the previous night. The two of them had watched a film completely different than what she had been planning to watch. Instead, he had found a film she had completely forgotten she had.

"No way! Halloween?" He had exclaimed. "Really?! You own this?!"

"N-No!" She denied, feeling embarrassed that he found a movie from his country in her house. "My brother thought I might be interested in it. I completely forgot I had it until you pulled it out…"

"Oh."

She watched him carefully. Was he disappointed that she didn't own it? For some reason, she kind of hoped he was.

"Well, have you seen it, at least?"

She shook her head.

"Aw, what?! Man, that's it. You need to be _indoctrinated." _He wiggled his fingers at her and spoke in an overly dramatic and deep voice.

Russia sighed. Horror movies weren't ever really her type of film. She would still rather watch a comedy or a drama, but for some reason, she went along with it anyway.

"All right. Will I at least be scared by this?" she asked.

He grinned. "Well, I always get creeped out by it!"

That wasn't promising much. Word had it that America got scared by a lot of films.

"Hmm," she murmured doubtfully.

"Aw, c'mon. I'm sure you've watched these kinds of films from Norway and Sweden, right?"

She nodded.

"Well then let's see how this holds up! C'mon, please?"

"I said I would already," she said exasperatedly. "So go ahead and put it on."

He did so, and very excitedly. As the movie began to play, he sat down next to her and squeezed a pillow under his chin. "Haven't watched this in a while!" He whispered and grinned at her.

She merely stared back at him, and they sat there on the couch quietly.

"Want some popcorn?" He suddenly asked as the characters in the movie were driving up to a mental asylum.

She couldn't help but chuckle. "No thank you. I don't think I even have any…"

"Oh." His shoulders slumped in defeat. It looked like there would be no popcorn for this movie.

By the middle of the movie, America was quite nervous while Russia was mildly interested. When one of the teenagers was killed by the psychotic killer, Russia could have sworn she heard a yelp and America grabbed her arm, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Um… Are you all right…?" She queried, gingerly prying his hand off of her arm.

"Uh… yeah! Course I am! What? D'you think I was scared?" He quickly distanced himself away from her. "Psh! Heroes don't get scared!" He scoffed.

"_Right." _

When the movie was over and America had turned it off, Russia just sat there, silent.

"So what didja think?" America asked, grinning.

She slowly turned to him.

"So that is what American horror film is; a man in a blank mask killing babysitters for no reason?" She stared at him, nonplussed.

America frowned a little. "Well… not all of it is… I mean, there are several other series like that… and all the remakes… but… this is one of the first!" He answered sheepishly.

There was a pause.

"Well, it certainly was… a unique movie," she finally said.

America grinned again. "I'll take that as a good thing."

Russia smiled, thinking back to that evening. The film had been genuinely eerie at times, though she didn't think she would lose any sleep over it, nor watch it ever again.

_Ah well. At least it hadn't been a lonely evening._

She sighed and got out of bed, ready to begin preparing for the day. She would have to stop by the Kremlin that morning, so she dressed properly for such an occasion. As she began making a light breakfast for herself, she decided to check her phone in case there were any messages that she slept through.

"You have ten new messages."

Russia winced.

"Message one," went the answering machine.

"_Joyeux Anniversaire, ma chérie!" _It was France, to Russia's surprise. "I know I forgot your birthday… I am a stupid fool!" He said dramatically. "So I thought I would at least give you a call to show I'm not a completely heartless beast-"

_Beep. _Anya skipped to the next message.

"Hello? _Sestra? _It's me, your brother! I was able to find a payphone so I could call you without getting tracked! Listen, are you all right? I heard that Amerika came to your house and-"

_Beep. _

"Next message."

"Anya! It's me again! Why won't you pick up? My sources said that they s_aw _Amerika at your doorstep and you let him in! Don't-"

_Beep._

"Next message."

"He's hurt you, hasn't he? He was in there for over an hour! I'll kick that man's-"

_Beep._

"Next message."

"All right, Anya. I'm coming over! I'll-"

_Beep._

The rest of the messages were all like that and Russia sighed. She hoped her brother had given up and realized she had just been asleep when he texted her. He wasn't in the house, at least. She would have heard him.

She then put her breakfast dishes in the sink and headed out.

_I really hope my brother hasn't done anything stupid, _she thought.

… … …

"You idiot! I told you to follow me up the stairs!" America bellowed into the mike on his headset as he watched the avatar of England get mauled by zombies. Again.

"Shut up, America. You should have come back to revive me!" He heard England shout back.

The Game Over sign showed up in dripping red letters on America's screen.

"I don't even like this game," England continued to complain. "Why did I ever let you talk me into playing this?"

"Because you can't say no to a challenge," America answered, smirking.

He heard England sigh.

"Yes, yes. You're right. Let's have a go at it one more time."

"Sure thing, buddy," America chuckled. "This time, though, how 'bout you actually _listen _to me for a change?"

Amidst England's scoffs and objections, America heard a loud knocking on his door.

"Hold on, man. Someone's at the door. Take five."

"Sure. Whatever that's supposed to mean…"

America got up from the couch and padded over to the front door. However, he had forgotten to take off his headset, and he opened the door.

"Yes? Hello?"

When it hit him, he didn't see anything at first. The only thing he knew was that something heavy collided with his midsection and he fell backwards. Everything was a blur of grays, blues and blacks before he finally recognized a pair of dark blue eyes.

"Belarus?" He exclaimed.

"Belarus? What? America, are you all right? I thought I heard something fall!" England said over the headset.

America tried to sit up.

"What are you doing here, man? I don't think I – Oh, crap!"

He rolled quickly to the side as Belarus brought out two long very sharp knives.

"America? America! Hey! What's going on? Listen to me!" England shouted.

"Put those things down, man!"

"Put _what _down?!" England roared. America didn't listen to him, but jumped to his feet and dodged behind the couch. Belarus was right behind him, though, jumping over the sofa and chasing America into the kitchen area. Belarus threw a knife and America dodged to the side, knocking the headset off in the process. He scrambled to grab one of the kitchen chairs to use as a shield against the knives while Belarus retrieved the tossed one. The two faced each other.

"What's going on, Belarus, dude?" He queried nervously, peering at his attacker from behind the chair.

"You dare ask me that? I know what you've been doing, you American pig!" Belarus snarled. He jabbed the knife into the chair.

"Geez!" America hissed. His eyes widened. "I haven't done anything! You're crazy!" He shouted.

"You can't deny it! I have eye witnesses that said you were at my sister's house last night!"

"Wha-?"

America lowered the chair ever so slightly, but that was all Belarus needed. He swiped at America's throat, nearly slitting it open. America flew backwards, however, and he toppled to the floor on his back. Belarus kicked the chair away and lunged for his prey, but America caught his arm and held him at bay.

"America? America, I'm still here, you know!" England's muffled voice came over the headset near them.

"Nngh!" Was all America got out as he strained to keep the knife away from his throat.

"All… I did … was tell your sister… happy birthday!" He grunted.

"Lies! You were in there for over an hour! What did you do to her?"

"I told you! I didn't do anything!"

"Then how come she will not answer my phone calls?"

"Gee, I wonder why?" America muttered sardonically. "Don't ask me! All I did was give her a present and watch a movie with her." He frowned. He was getting annoyed. "Now _get off." _

He bunched is legs together from underneath Belarus and kicked him off. The man went flying and hit the back of the sofa, hard.

The knives lay discarded by America near the headset and he picked them up and put them on the kitchen counter.

"You'll get those back when you leave," he told the fallen man, who was slowly sitting back up and rubbing his head.

"I don't need knives to hurt you," he growled.

America rolled his eyes.

"Man, I don't even know what you're talking about. I didn't _do _anything to Russia."

"How am I to believe that? You are her sworn enemy. Going to visit her on her birthday – when you know full well no one else would – could be the perfect set up to ambush her."

America ignored how much he agreed with Belarus on that and merely said,

"Well… I wasn't planning on ambushing her or anything. I don't know how I can convince you, but-"

Suddenly the sound of a cell phone ringing interrupted him.

"That's not mine," America said.

Surprised, Belarus pulled out a black cell phone and answered it.

"Hello? _Sestra!"_

America rolled his eyes again.

"What am I doing? I was just making sure that Amerika – No. No, I understand. I was just worried about you… I am at his house and – But _sestra, _I was just worried – All right… Yes. Goodbye…"

He shut the phone and put it back in his pocket, glaring up at America all the while.

"I am sorry, Amerika," he muttered.

America sighed and stood back, giving Belarus enough space to stand up.

"No problem, I guess. You know you could have just called me to ask what happened."

Belarus continued to frown. "I would not have believed you."

"Yeah. I suppose not…" He took the knives from the kitchen and gave them back to Belarus. The man stored them in his coat.

"So… um… I guess I'll show you to the door…"

Belarus nodded.

"You… uh, don't want a drink or anything?"

"No."

"Okay." America was, admittedly, relieved. He really didn't want Belarus to stay for much longer.

"Goodbye, Amerika."

"Yeah. Bye."

Once Belarus was gone, America turned back to the paused game.

"Aw crap!" He grabbed the discarded headset.

"England? Yo, England! You still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," England responded, though he sounded quite put out.

"What was all that about? Did I hear Belarus attacking you?!"

America grimaced. He wasn't sure how to explain everything to his friend.

"Uhhh… Just a little argument is all. No biggie. You know how Belarus can be."

"Heh." England snorted derisively.

"Yeah, so, anyways… Wanna get back to the game?"

… … …

Belarus' visit was only the first of several questioning notes and rumors concerning the night of Russia's birthday. America got plenty of emails and texts demanding answers about why he visited Russia's house after sundown. He was even questioned by the President and his administration!

The Russian government was just as bewildered, and also a little worried. Half believed America was up to something and half believed it was just what it looked like: one of the representatives offering a hand of friendship to the other after years of strained relations. Both countries were so confused over the whole scenario that they decided to hold a small meeting to discuss the issue.

America sighed as both he and Russia waited outside the meeting hall while inside their officers were discussing things. He glanced over at his fellow nation, but she didn't say a word to him. Instead, she focused on the newspaper, shaking her head and tutting every now and then.

He sighed again. "All this over a stupid visit…" he muttered.

"You acted foolishly," she responded, not taking her eyes off of the paper. "You should have at least told your president where you were going."

He frowned. "And what about you, hm? I don't remember you ever calling up your president to inform him of my visit."

She gave a little toss of the head and snapped the paper up closer to her face.

"This is embarrassing…" He heard her mutter.

He snorted. "You're telling me!"

"I don't even know if I like you that much," she continued. "What with you and your people always sticking your noses into our business…"

"Hey now," he said tersely. "Watch it, Russia. You know I could say plenty about you – nothing good, either!"

She lowered the paper and just smiled coldly at him.

"Could you? Pray tell me, what would you say?" Her dark eyes held a challenge in them.

He huffed and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not going to tell you. I am a gentleman, after all."

He heard her snort derisively and his fists clenched. Once again, this woman had managed to piss him off, and he hated that about her. Sure, there were other countries he didn't get along with every now and then, but somehow it was always Russia who was the one that got under his skin the most. There were times he just wanted to scream at her and shake her till her teeth fell out. Only problem with that was, she was every bit as powerful as he was. If he hit hard, she'd hit back just as hard. And he knew she wasn't afraid to do so.

"I really hate you sometimes," he groused out. He heard a light tinkling laughter and tried to hold back a shudder.

"The feeling is mutual," she responded. He looked back at her but she had gone back to the paper. "Hopefully, we won't have to deal with such things as this in the future, yes?"

His frown deepened. He understood her words perfectly. She wanted him as far away from her as possible. Despite the somewhat enjoyable evening of her birthday, the relationship between the two of them seemed to remain cold. But he couldn't help it! He _did _hate her! She drove him crazy! She made him want to tear his hair out!

She had once claimed that they had a lot in common, despite their governments being the exact opposite… But that idea scared him. Russia was insane, everyone said. She was a murderer. All she cared about was gaining more land and more power. He didn't want to be like her. He wanted nothing to do with her…

But even so, memories flashed through his mind, reminding him he was no less innocent of bloodshed than Russia was. They both had wanted so much… Tried to gain the entire world… They had just gone about it in different ways… His eyes slowly turned back to the woman sitting next to him and he studied her profile solemnly. Why were things the way they were? Why couldn't they get along?

Suddenly the doors to the inner office opened, and Alfred and Anya's bosses came out.

"Everything is fine," Alfred's president said, clapping a hand on his nation's shoulder.

"You have worked things out?" Anya asked, looking at her president. He nodded.

"We shall be meeting to negotiate further understanding in Ireland in a few months," the Russian president answered. He politely shook America's boss' hand. "Until then, safe travels."

America's president nodded as he returned the handshake. "Thank you for having us."

As he left the building with his boss, Alfred turned back to see Russia smiling at him with a sort of triumph that made him set his jaw. But suddenly, an idea came to him – an awful idea – a marvelously wicked, awful idea.

He grinned back at her. _So you don't want to have anything to do with me, do you? _He thought.

_ Well… welcome to your new nightmare, baby._

* * *

**A.N.: **Ahhh another chapter! I had a bit of difficulty in the middle of this, but I've fixed it and it's all good.

When you write these two in a modern setting, you've gotta be careful in talking about current events, since things can get a bit... personal... eheh. So I skirted around those issues, since I don't think talking about them in a Hetalia fanfic is appropriate. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just google current American/Russian relations.

Yep. That's it, I think. thanks for keeping up with this so far! ;u;


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